Dialectic
by Atiaran
Summary: A bite-size follow-up to my previous story "Dangerous Woman." Takes place between Ryan and Lamb after or during the scene in Lamb's office.


**Standard disclaimer:** None of the characters, places, etc. in this story are mine, but are instead the property of 2K Games and / or Irrational Games. No copyright infringement is intended by their use in this story.

**Author's note: **This is a bite-sized followup to my earlier fic "Dangerous Woman." I wrote it concurrently with "Dangerous Woman," then sat on it to see if it would grow. Unfortunately, it doesn't seem to be growing, so I decided I'd post it and see if something shakes loose in my brain. As I said in the A/N for the earlier fic, I _love_ the idea of Sophia Lamb and Andrew Ryan as a couple (or not :D). I just wish I had the philosophical background to really pull the two of them off to my satisfaction. Anyway, enjoy.

* * *

The fire crackled lazily in the brick-paved fireplace, casting its warmth and flickering light over the interior of the office, turning it intimate, almost cozy as the fish swam by in schools and the tall strands of seaweed waved in the current outside. The fire itself was fueled by compressed, dried bricks of the same seaweed; here, under the waves, wood was expensive enough to make its use for fire prohibitive. Ryan turned onto his side, propping himself up on one arm and watching the changing patterns of firelight dancing over the lush Persian-style carpet. He felt…relaxed. At ease. Better than he had in years, possibly better than at any time since he first come to Rapture. _And I have her to thank for it._

His eyes went to his companion; she had already risen from the couch and was dressing herself again, unconcerned. As he watched, she stepped into the dark green dress she had been wearing earlier and pulled it up over herself, reaching behind to do up the zipper. Ryan gauged the dress with a not-inexperienced eye: he judged that the garment was costly but not exorbitant, and the cost was reflected in the quality of the workmanship, rather than extravagant ornamentation. Despite its modest cut, the dress suited its wearer: it was flattering without being revealing, subtle yet elegant. _Much like the woman herself,_ he mused.

"Stay with me," he said suddenly.

She turned to look at him over one shoulder. "I beg your pardon?"

"Stay with me, Sophia, my dear," he repeated, pushing himself to a sitting position. "Darling, come live with me, and be my queen."

One perfect brow went up. "I thought that in Rapture there _were_ no gods or kings: only men."

"Not _Rapture's_ queen. _Mine._ The queen of my heart," he proclaimed, with a touch of irony. He caught her hand and brought it to his lips. "I've never met such a woman as you, my dear. Stay with me," he offered again.

Coolly, Sophia retrieved her hand and returned to zipping up her dress. "And what of Diane?"

It was difficult, but Ryan managed to conceal his reaction. "Diane?"

Calm blue eyes regarded him. "Diane McClintock," she replied. "I suspect she would object quite strongly."

_Damn._ Ryan cursed under his breath. A strange heat filled his face. Of course she knew; he had already seen that Sophia knew all sorts of things that she had no business knowing. Still, the thought that this cool, elegant woman knew of his…relations…with Diane filled him with an odd reticence. "_Diane._" He gestured in somewhat scornful impatience. "She means nothing to me. I made her no promises, and she knows it. Say but a word, and I'll send her packing." At the moment, he even meant it.

She tilted her head. Ryan could read nothing on those elegant features. "And I am to believe that you will not dismiss me just as easily when you tire of me?" And as he stared at her—what she had said, the suggestion that he would tire of her, sounded so ridiculous that he could scarcely make sense of it—she handed him his shirt. "Here. You should dress; I have an appointment in half an hour or so and I very much doubt that you would like to be found here in this state."

"_Damn_ your appointment," Ryan said with sudden vehemence. "Cancel it. Cancel everything. Clear your schedule, my darling, and let me take you to lunch at the Kashmir. Have you ever been there? It's the finest restaurant in all Rapture—the food is simply exquisite. Or if you don't want to go out—" he hastened to add as she started to speak, "we can stay in instead. Have something sent to us. What would you like? You have only to name it and it is yours. Your wish is my command." A strange urgency filled him. He seized her hand, clung to it. "Sophia, my dear, _stay_ with me. Come—let's spend the day together. The _week._ We'll make it a holiday—I haven't had a real holiday in longer than I can remember. Sophia, please—"

She pulled away, turning those cool blue eyes on him again. "Your offer is very kind. But I cannot in good conscience accept, I am afraid. That I should feast while so many are starving in Rapture would be nothing short of a moral obscenity. If you wish, you might take the money you would have spent on me and use it to buy food and shelter for the needy."

Ryan felt himself flush at her words, and he struggled to suppress the sudden surge of anger that filled him. "There _are_ no starving people in Rapture," he insisted.

Sophia raised one brow. "If you actually believe that," she replied, "then we have nothing more to discuss. Perhaps you would like to visit a soup kitchen with me sometime." He was silent. Sophia gave a slight smile. "You see?"

She turned away again, and suddenly that urgency was back. He caught at her hand again, tugging her back to him. "Sophia, _please. _Don't go. I—" He cast about frantically for something, anything to catch her interest. "What would you like? Jewels? Furs? I—whatever it is, your heart's desire, I can give it. Say the word, my dear, and I'll pull down the moon and give it to you on a silver platter. Whatever you want. Speak, and it is yours."

Sophia shook her head. "Andrew, Andrew," she sighed. "The things you have to offer—the very fact that you think in offering them you will sway me—only serve to demonstrate how little you understand me. Your wealth holds no interest for me whatever. In the end, all the things you propose to give me are meaningless. The only things I _would_ accept as gifts from you," she said, regarding him with some pity, "are things that you would not care to give."

Ryan cursed inwardly, searching for something else. "Sophia, please. Is it a ring you want? I—I'll buy ring for you if that is what you would like." Again, at that moment, in the throes of the strange desperation that was filling him, he meant it. He could not have told where this desperation was coming from; he only knew that he _could not_ let her walk away. "I've never offered this to anyone before, but you—Sophia, you must understand. I've never felt this way about any other woman. Stay with me, please, Sophia, my love."

"Andrei," she said gently, "that cannot be, and you know it. This was a moment in time, no more." She smiled slightly. "A synthesis."

_Finis._


End file.
